


our battles choose us

by Rhiannon87



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Found Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: Scenes, moments, and vignettes throughout Vox Machina's adventures.





	1. memories and fog

**Author's Note:**

> These have mostly been written as reactions while I'm catching up on the series. More to come as I keep watching.

Percy had never thought himself an especially vain man, but he’d been proud of himself and his achievements. The things he learned, the things he built, his quick, sharp mind analyzing a situation and responding with a bit of lore or a biting retort, as appropriate. He was brilliant and he knew it and he wasn’t about to apologize for it.

He knew all that was true. Had been true, once. But since that night, it was as if his mind was shrouded in fog. The facts and figures and theories he’d studied had all faded, unreachable beyond the blood in the halls and Cass’s scream when she fell. He hadn’t built anything in over a year. Hadn’t wanted to. He could barely keep his mind fixed on packing crates or whatever his last job had been; designing any of his mechanisms or machines was beyond his reach, now.

The days all ran together, and if you’d asked him what he’d done last week or where he’d slept last month, he’d have been hard-pressed to recall. It was a blur of roads and wagons and alleys, of mindless labor and flavorless food. All the rest, faces and names and places, were lost to the fog. Nothing he could remember.

What he did remember, with absolute clarity, was his family. Mother and Father dancing at the Winter’s Crest ball. Julius passing him increasingly crude notes during their lessons, trying to make him laugh. The twins running through the garden on a bright summer’s day. Vesper’s gasp of delight when he’d shown her the simple clock he’d built. Chasing Cass and Ludwig through the halls of Whitestone, their laughter ringing off the walls. He remembered, in agonizing detail, love and happiness and  _ home _ .

And he remembered blood, and screams, and his own terror as Ripley worked on him. He remembered how Cassandra’s hands had shook as she’d fumbled with the chains, how she’d dropped the key three times before getting it in the lock. He remembered his lungs burning as he’d run, and he remembered the way the arrows stuck up from the grass, marking the spot where his baby sister fell.

The latter memories came to him in nightmares, waking him with screams and thrashing that often found him kicked out of whatever cheap hostel he’d taken shelter in for the night. But even so, those were easier. Because at least when he dreamed of their deaths, waking up was a relief. When he dreamed of their lives, waking to face reality was the cruelest torture.

It was almost enough to make him question his commitment to staying alive. But for all his misery, he wouldn’t take that final, terrible step. Because then the Briarwoods would have killed every de Rolo, and he wouldn’t let them have that victory. Spite wasn’t the worst reason to keep breathing, after all.

So Percy kept breathing, and kept heading south. Away from Whitestone. Away from memories of home and happiness and blood, with the vague hope that if he went far enough, they too would disappear into the fog. 


	2. hours spent waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Episode 21.

Vax was being insufferable, and he knew it. It had been a little easier to push the worry and fear down when he had a task to focus on. Something to hit or sneak past or search, things to occupy his mind. But they’d returned to the Slayer’s Take within fourteen hours of setting out--hardly a record, Vanessa was quick to point out, but still fairly impressive--and now he had nothing to do. Nothing to occupy his thoughts away from the jolt of panic when he looked around and didn’t see Vex.

It wasn’t that they were  _ literally _ always within eyesight of each other; they were close, yes, but that was taking things a step too far. But when he couldn’t see her, he still knew where she was. At the markets or in her room or off with a partner for the night. That was fine, because he knew where she was, and she knew where he was, and they could get to each other if one of them was in danger.

They’d sent her out to kill a bloody  _ dragon _ . Vex was in danger, and he couldn’t get to her.

He’d thought about it. Thought about following them out into the Timberlands and tracking them down, but when he casually suggested it Keyleth paused in mooning over the cleric to shoot him the most judgmental look he’d ever gotten from her.

“Are you out of your mind!?”

“No--well, not anymore than normal, I don’t think, I just--”

“They’ve had a day’s head start on us. You have  _ no _ idea where they went. You saw that forest when we came in, it goes on for miles and miles and  _ miles _ .” Keyleth planted her elbows on the table, rattling their empty dishes, and shook her head at him. “You go out there by yourself, you’ll get yourself killed. And then Vex will kill alllll the rest of us for letting you do something so stupid.”

His lips quirked in a wry smile. “Eh, I’m a dead man regardless. You know she’s going to kill me over that carpet.”

Keyleth’s face fell, and she looked down with a heavy sigh. “We can probably get it fixed,” she said. “Tiberius said he could re-enchant it. Or maybe Allura could!”

“It was her carpet originally,” Vax replied. “I’m pretty sure if we bring it back, she’s just going to keep it.”

“Oh. Right. Well--we can find someone to fix it, is the point!”

Vax chuckled and shook his head, then reached for his ale. Without his conscious input, his gaze drifted to the doors leading back to the main hall. They remained stubbornly closed, rather than bursting open as Grog led the way towards celebratory ale.

“Do you trust them?”

Vax blinked and turned to Keyleth. “What?”

“Vex and Grog and Percy and Scanlan. You trust them, right?”

“I--yes, of course. With my life.”

Keyleth quirked an eyebrow. “With Vex’s life, too?”

“I…” That was more complicated. He trusted them, all of them, he really did, he just… Vax sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Keyleth patted his other hand, and Vax let his arm drop. “They’ll be okay,” she said. “I’m sure that the guild sent good people with them, and they’ve fought a dragon before! They can handle it.”

Last time they’d fought a dragon, though, they’d all been together. And it had still been a hard-won victory, leaving scars on them all. But Vax could already see the path of the conversation if he kept at it, going round and round in circles with neither of them feeling better. So instead he smirked, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, but will their people be quite so good as the charming Brother Kash?”

Keyleth went bright red and giggled. “Shut  _ up _ , Vax,” she said, kicking his shin under the table. Vax just grinned and grabbed his ale again. Maybe it was only a momentary distraction, but he’d take anything that would make the wait go by faster.


	3. building anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid-Episode 24.

It had started to feel like Greyskull had a heartbeat, after a while, a steady metallic hammering echoing up from the basement. There wasn’t much warmth or comfort in it, though, not the way a heartbeat should feel. It put Vex on edge, which was part of the reason why she spent so much time outside. The other reason, of course, was teaching Trinket the  _ very _ important art of rolling into a ball and hurling himself into people, armor-first.

But Trinket got tired, and she couldn’t stay outside forever. And she didn’t actually want to avoid Percy; it was just hard, seeing him so closed off. So brittle, like the wrong word would shatter him into a thousand cutting pieces. Almost everyone had drifted in and out of his workshop at least once over the last few days, offering to help with whatever he was working on. Everyone except Grog, who was still under the impression that Percy’s tongs had cursed him so that water burned… and Vex.

Two days before the Briarwoods were due to arrive, Percy had skipped breakfast and lunch, which was just stupid of him, really. He couldn’t make anything useful if he collapsed from hunger and burned half that lovely face of his off. So Vex made a couple sandwiches out of leftovers in the kitchen and grabbed a pitcher of juice, then headed downstairs.

The workshop was hotter than usual when Vex leaned around the doorway and peered inside. Flames burned bright within the forge, and Percy stood at the anvil nearby, hammering away at some glowing piece of metal. Even with the leather gloves and heavy apron, Vex could still see his shirt clinging to his torso, his white hair sweat-dampened and faintly streaked with black. It was a rather attractive look on him, and she took a few moments to admire it before clearing her throat. 

“You missed lunch, darling,” she called over the sound of hammering and the dull roar of flames.

Percy looked up, eyes startled behind his glasses. “I did?”

“Yes.” Vex held up the loaded tray. “Come on now, you’re no good to anyone half-starved.”

He huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Right. I’ll be there as soon as I finish this.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Vex found a clear section of workbench and laid out lunch, pouring two glasses and making sure Percy got the heartier of the sandwiches. All the while, she kept an eye on him, watching to see that he didn’t slip back into his tunnel vision focus and keep working.

But he was good as his word and, after dunking the curved piece of metal into a bucket of water, set everything aside and came over. “Thanks,” he said, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up at funny angles. “Oh, food. I didn’t even realize I was hungry.”

“I figured as much.” Vex sipped her juice while Percy did his level best to inhale the entire sandwich. She left hers untouched, and when, as expected, she caught him glancing at it, she pushed the plate over.

“Oh, uh, are you--”

“I actually ate lunch at a reasonable time,” she replied with a smirk.

Percy shook his head and reached for the plate. “Yes, well, it’s easy to lose track of time down here.”

“Mm.” She glanced around while he started in on sandwich number two, taking in the designs pinned to the walls and the half-finished machines scattered across the workbenches. Four years ago, he’d seen his family betrayed and murdered, been tortured, barely managed to escape. And now he was here, building and creating and fighting alongside them. Living alongside them.

“You’re going to survive this, you know.” Vex turned back to Percy, catching him frozen mid-chew, his eyes wide again. She smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I know it probably seems like the worst thing imaginable, facing them again, and it definitely won’t be pleasant. But you’ve been through worse already and survived it.” She tilted her head to the side and leaned towards him a bit, as if sharing a secret. “And this time, you won’t be facing them alone.”

He finished chewing and swallowed, his gaze never leaving her face. “That’s partly true,” he agreed. “I won’t be alone, yes, but… well. They could kill my family again.”

“Oh, darling.” Vex reached over and tapped his cheek. “We’re Vox Machina. We’ve taken down dragons and beholders and illithid, and that’s just in the last  _ month _ . Do you really think they’re a match for us?”

Percy blinked at her again, then smiled, though the expression was more bloodthirsty than relieved. That was all right. It was still a smile. “You know, my dear,” he said, “I think you might be right.”

“Aren’t I always?” Vex winked at him and collected the plates. “Now go on, get back to being brilliant. Build something wonderful.”

He chuckled, and this time, his smile made him look more like himself. “Don’t I always?”   
  
  
  



	4. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Episode 25.

Keyleth was afraid.

She trailed the others back towards Grayskull, watching and listening, unable to stop her gaze from darting to Percy. Percy, her friend, her comrade in arms. Percy, who was brave and funny and so blindingly brilliant. Who had come with her to Pyrah, who had stood beside her and defended her more times than she could count.

She was afraid of him.

It had begun with the carriage driver, when Percy had blown his hand apart. The boy was terrified, and Percy had threatened to kill him. She’d been angry then, too, high on the rush of battle, and it wasn’t until later that what he’d done had sunk in. (But could she blame him, really? Could she hold it against him when she’d heard the pain as he recited his family’s names? Did she have the right?)

Then when that other tiefling had turned up… Keyleth couldn’t shake the memory of his voice, that horrible, distorted shout that she wished hadn’t sounded so much like him.

_ “Die! Die! Die! Your soul is now forfeit!” _

She shuddered and glanced at him again. They needed to talk, all of them, needed to figure out their next course of action. They needed answers from Percy. Maybe he’d tell them something that would ease her worries.

But somehow, Keyleth doubted it.

*

Vex’ahlia was deeply, desperately relieved.

When she’d seen that huddled pile of cloth on the cobblestones between the Briarwoods, she’d… she’d just known. She’d known it was Vax, she’d known he was too far away, she’d known there was no way for her to save him. She couldn’t fly or heal or do anything but fire arrows at those monsters through her tears.

But Vax had survived. They’d kept him alive, gotten him away from the Briarwoods, and now he was stumbling along beside her, her arm slung around his shoulders. She’d never known the world without him, and for today, at least, she wouldn’t have to.

Vax let out a heavy sigh and bumped his head against her shoulder. “I promise, Vex,” he mumbled, and followed it up with a decisive nod.

She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “Promise what?”

“I’ll never leave your side. Not again.” Another nod and a sideways smile. “Promise.”

She smiled back, blinking away tears. “Good. Think you can promise to be less of a dummy, too?”

He chuckled. “Don’t ask for promises you  _ know _ I can’t keep.”

“All right, all right.” She squeezed his shoulder, that warm, almost giddy relief blossoming in her chest again. He was okay. Her brother, her twin, her other half, he was okay. “I suppose that’s good enough for now.”

*

Percy felt nothing.

Earlier, there had been rage. Cold and sharp and vicious, a fury like he’d never known, greater than all the terror the Briarwoods had ever wrought upon him. Rage at the monsters who had taken his family and his home, rage at the sniveling bastard who served them, rage at the fools who dared cross him.

But now… nothing. He wasn’t tired, he wasn’t sad, he wasn’t anything. He just kept walking the familiar road to the keep, his own steady breathing and even footsteps louder than the conversations of his friends around him. They all felt very far away. Almost unreal.

He kept looking down at himself, expecting to see blood. It seemed wrong that there wasn’t, that for all his fury he could walk away unmarked. There should have been blood, his or someone else’s, but his finery bore only faint streaks of dirt and blackpowder. He wasn’t like Grog or Vax, getting up close and slicing with blades. His weapons were distant. Based on calculation and precision, not unbridled rage.

Perhaps when he saw the Briarwoods again, he would do things differently. Perhaps, when they were beaten and broken, he would bind them himself and use everything he’d learned on them. First one, then the other. Back and forth. Make them watch as he took them apart.

He’d have to decide which one he’d allow to die first. Perhaps he’d flip a coin.

Problems for the future. For now… back to Greyskull. There was a traitor there who needed his attention.


	5. hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 30.

Percy’s hands shook as they left Keeper Yennen’s room. Cassandra was alive. Cass, his baby sister, the one who’d saved him, she was  _ alive _ .

He hadn’t lost everything.

“Percy?”

He glanced at Keyleth, blinking rain out of his eyes. “Yes?”

“I-I know we have to hurry, but--” She hesitated, then threw her arms around his neck, nearly throwing him off balance. “I’m so happy for you, Percy,” she said into his shoulder. “Your sister--”

Percy got one arm around her and patted her back, then stepped away. “Thank you,” he said. “But let’s… she’s still in grave danger. She might not--” His voice broke, and he shook his head. “They haven’t heard from her in weeks. I can’t celebrate until I know she’s safe.”

Keyleth nodded. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the others. “Come on. We’ve gotta keep up.”

In spite of his own words, he couldn’t bury his own elation as they made their way through the muddy streets. Cassandra had to be alive, she had to, especially now that the Briarwoods knew he lived. They’d keep her, try to use her against him, but he’d get her back. He’d save her, the way she’d saved him all those years ago.

Gods, he couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. He’d suffered, of course, but he hadn’t been forced to serve the people who’d murdered their family. Hadn’t been forced to walk the halls where they’d once lived, see the place defaced and destroyed. She might hate him, for leaving her to that miserable fate.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t need her forgiveness, he just needed her alive and safe. And with her alive… he didn’t necessarily have to take the title, this way. It wouldn’t matter how much blood coated his hands by the end of this. He could be the demon, the terror in the streets, raining vengeance on those who had broken him. Cassie was already known and loved by the small resistance here. She could step in and lead, especially with Archie’s help.

He could have it all. Vengeance and family, blood and justice. The de Rolos would return to Whitestone. The town would thrive. And he would ensure that the monsters who’d done this to him--to Cassandra--suffered for a long, long time.

His lips pulled back somewhere between a grin and a snarl, and in the back of his head, something gave a low, smoky laugh.  


	6. almost family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid-episode 31.

It was sort of peaceful, in this tunnel--or at least, what Vax supposed passed for peaceful around here. It was as safe as they’d been since they arrived in Whitestone, if nothing else. Ironic, given it was also the closest they’d been to the Briarwoods.

Only going to get closer from here on out. He glanced around at his sleeping companions, his gaze lingering on Vex, before he turned towards Percy. Percy was sleeping as he always did when sitting up was the only option: head tipped forward, glasses just barely hanging on his ears, his arms folded with one hand tucked inside his coat to rest on the grip of his gun. It was kind of adorable, really, and so Vax felt a _little_ bad when he elbowed the other man into consciousness. But only a little.

Percy woke with a startled grunt, looking around blearily before his gaze fixed on Vax. He blinked a few times, apparently waiting for Vax to explain himself.

“Hi.” Soft open. Ease into this a little.

Percy rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead with the motion. “Yes?”

“I want you to get some sleep, but I wanted to talk for a minute,” Vax said. He glanced around at the others again, trying to make sure none of them had woken. Neither of them were especially loud people, and Percy seemed to be following his lead in keeping his voice down. Still. What Vax had to say was for Percy’s ears alone.

“I don’t know if I can do both those things, but okay,” Percy said as he pulled his hands from his face and adjusted his glasses.

“That’s all right, we can separate them,” Vax replied. Percy was usually a bit quicker returning to consciousness. Maybe it was because he’d only gotten twenty minutes or so before Vax had woken him. Whatever, he’d be fine. Back to sleep in no time. Vax turned to face him fully and met his gaze. “This thing,” he began. “This _thing…_ ”

“Yes.” Percy grimaced slightly, still absently rubbing his face.

“What do you really know about it? How do you know this thing isn’t whispering in Sylas’s ear?” Unknowns were always trouble, and even more so when they came up among friends. “What do you _really_ know about this thing?”

“I don’t know anything about this… thing,” Percy said, almost before Vax had finished speaking. Which was precisely not the answer Vax had been hoping for. “Except that… this last time?” Percy went quiet for a moment, lips pressed together as he thought. “This last time was different, than the first time. This last time didn’t…” He trailed off with a sigh, and Vax waited while he found the words. If nothing else, Percy seemed to have been more or less honest with them about whatever was happening. It wasn’t manipulating him that much.

“This last time, I felt more like me,” he finally concluded. “And less like I was being drawn somewhere. I wasn’t entirely me, but I was more-- it’s hard to describe.” He frowned off into the darkness, towards the flickering shadows where Pike’s glowing guardian paced in slow, steady circles. “I felt like I had… contained it a bit. I feel like maybe, I can--I can keep it in check. I don’t know.”

Not as reassuring as Vax had wanted. Though to be honest, he wasn’t sure _what_ answer would have actually reassured him. There probably wasn’t one. Vax didn’t know much about outsiders, as Pike called them, creatures from planes beyond their own, but he knew enough to suspect that their Percival was well and truly in over his brilliant head.

“I want to tell you something.” Vax leaned in, catching and holding Percy’s gaze again. Percy nodded and didn’t look away. “We are almost like family now, and I have seen you do many great things. And you have earned my trust.” He hesitated for a second before continuing, his eyes falling shut to get away from the wide, almost innocent look in Percy’s. “But if you hurt my sister… if you hurt anyone else in this group inadvertently…”

He didn’t even get to the actual threat, the promise to take his dagger to Percy’s throat, before the other man nodded in understanding. In acceptance. “I would expect no less.”

It took Vax off-guard, a bit, to have his threat go so utterly unchallenged. “Well, all right then,” he said, leaning back. In a weird way, it was sort of comforting. There was still enough of their Percy in there to know that something was wrong, and to understand that if things got worse, Vax stopping him was the right thing to do.

Percy looked down at the floor for a second. “Vax?”

“Mm.” Vax just raised his eyebrows and looked back at him, expecting some request to make his death quick or perhaps a plea to just knock him out, to find healing. Which Vax would do, of course, if it was an option, killing Percy wasn’t his first choice, but--

A delighted, boyish grin spread across Percy’s face. “I have a sister,” he whispered gleefully, then rocked back and forth a little, a hushed laugh escaping him.

Vax stared at him, and smiled back, and felt his heart crack in two. It was so easy to forget that Percy was, as far as Vax knew, the youngest of them. Percy hadn’t ever told them specifically, but Vax could read human ages well enough to know that there was no way he was over 24. With everything that had happened to him, he’d obviously had to grow up terribly fast, but there were moments like this when the boy he’d been--the boy he should have had the chance to be, if only for a bit longer--slipped through.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it,” Vax said.

Percy nodded, looking close to bursting with excitement, wearing the first real smile Vax had seen from him in weeks. “I’m… I’m hoping…” He trailed off with another small laugh, as if the very idea of having hope was a strange one.

“Well, um... Hold onto that,” Vax said. Perhaps the promise of a reunion with his sister would keep him on this side of sane. He didn’t care what did the trick, really, just so long as Percy stayed with them and didn’t get lost to… to that thing, whatever the hell it was.

“I shall,” Percy said, still smiling.

Then, of course, Grog ruined the moment with a home-grown stinking cloud, and by the time Vax finished carefully drawing a hairy ballsack on his forehead in revenge, Percy had fallen back asleep. Vax settled back down beside him, watching him sleep for a bit, then reached over and very gently ruffled his hair. They’d get him through this, one way or another.


	7. survivors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 33.

It was terribly disconcerting, watching versions of himself and Cassandra walk around all covered in blood, so at the first chance Percy ghosted off to one of the tombs. And perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he found that Cassandra had beaten him there, sitting against the wall with her knees pulled towards her chest.

She glanced up at him, narrowed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Had to be sure it was really you,” she said. Percy snorted and slid down the wall to sit beside her, every wound he’d taken in that fight protesting the motion.

Cassandra looked back towards the hall. “Why did he…?” She trailed off and gestured back and forth between their faces.

Percy chuckled. “Scanlan means well,” he said. “They all do.”

“Indeed.” She looked away and picked up her dagger, absently digging the tip into a loose bit of stone. “They’re a weird bunch, your friends.”

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

“I’m glad you have them, though.” Cassandra kept staring at the floor, focused on the dagger. “It’s good you weren’t alone.”

Guilt flared in his chest, threatening to strangle him, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’m sorry, Cass,” he said. “I--I don’t have anything else to say, no excuses or justifications.” He’d left her behind. She’d fallen, she’d screamed for him to help, and he’d left her there. Yes, he’d been terrified and tortured and so damn young, but she was his little sister. She’d saved him, and he’d abandoned her. Nothing that happened, nothing that he ever did, would make up for that. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded. “I know. And… we’ll have to talk about it all. Eventually. But not now.”

“Right.”

Silence fell over their little corner of the tombs, broken only by distant voices and the scrape of Cassandra’s dagger. After a few moments, she sighed and set the blade down. “I really am glad you’re alive,” she whispered, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder.

Percy blinked hard against the tears that sprang to his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alive too, Cass.” His voice cracked on her name, and he cleared his throat, then coughed. Damn.

For a few precious, quiet minutes, they just sat there, the two survivors of the de Rolo family, surrounded by generations of empty tombs. He’d have to try to track down the bodies, Percy thought absently. Find everyone and put them back to rest, if such a thing was even possible. Hopefully… hopefully there’d be some way to recover his family’s remains. Their bones might have still been in the dungeon. It had been part of Ripley’s torture, locking him up beside the corpses of his siblings and father and let their dead eyes stare at him, blood congealing on the floor and it didn’t matter how long he kept his eyes shut they were always there always looking--

He shuddered and swallowed hard. Cassandra leaned into him for a moment, then pulled away. “Come on,” she said as she collected her dagger. “Let’s go back to our look-alikes.”

Percy chuckled and got to his feet, automatically holding out a hand to help her up. She didn’t take it, instead bracing her free hand on the wall while sheathing the blade. He glanced away and dropped his hand. “Where’d you get the blades?”

“Some of the guards, in the city,” she replied. “There were a few from the palace who escaped, taught me how to use them, in the early days. Torian and Ashyla and Darren, do you remember them?”

He frowned. “I think so,” he murmured. Truth be told, he hadn’t ever paid the guards much mind, but when people were in your house all the time you couldn’t help but learn a few names. “Ashyla was the elf, right?”

“Yeah. She and Vesper always got along well.” Cassandra looked down. “She and Torian were with me, when…”

When Sylas caught them. When they were trapped and slaughtered. There was a traitor in the resistance, and when this was all over, Percy would find them and serve them a fitting punishment. “Surprised the Briarwoods let you keep the blades.”

She shrugged. “I think it was their way of showing their power,” she said. “It didn’t matter if I was armed, because there was nothing I could do to them on my own.”

There was that guilt again, a dull ache behind his ribs. Percy nodded. “Well. You’re not alone now.” He looked her up and down. It was still a struggle to reconcile this hardened woman with the girl he remembered, but she was still Cass. Still his little sister. Nothing would change that, and nothing would take her away from him again.

Percy reached out and touched the pauldron of her armor. “She’d be proud of you,” he said quietly.

Cassandra looked up at him and met his gaze steadily. “I know.”

Of course she did. He smiled faintly. “I’m proud of you.”

She didn’t look away, but a small smile crossed her face. “You better be.” She patted his arm, then stepped past him. “Come on. We’re wasting daylight.”

Percy let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, we are,” he agreed, and turned to follow his sister.


	8. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 35.

Whitestone Castle was about half the size of Uriel’s palace in Emon, but that still meant it was a massive, sprawling place. Far too empty, in Vex’s opinion, though she knew that it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Once upon a time, the halls had been filled with servants and advisors and children who all looked a bit like Percy. Vex thought she could imagine it, sometimes, standing at the end of a hall and squinting at the weak sunlight filtering through the windows. She could almost see the way this place must have been.

Percy and Cassandra could remember it, though, and she couldn’t imagine how hard it had to be for them to walk through the place.

But Percy _was_ somewhere in the castle today--she hadn’t seen him since breakfast, but everyone she’d spoken to said this was where he’d gone. She just… had to find him. Vex was halfway through the rooms on the second floor, peeking inside at bedrooms and studies and lounges and reading rooms, her eyes taking in the dusty relics left behind by the people who’d once lived there. Books with bookmarks halfway through, dressing gowns thrown over footboards, hairbrushes with tangled strands still woven through them, all the things that their owners had expected to come back to after that fateful dinner.

Vex rounded another corner and sighed as she found herself faced with another eight doors to check. By the time she finished searching the castle, Percy probably would have returned to the town. She shook her head and stepped forward, only to stop mid-stride at the soft sound that reached her ears. A quiet, stuttering gasp, followed by a muffled whimper.

Instinct took over, and she moved towards the sound without thought. It led her to the second door on the right, which was cracked open an inch. Vex paused again, her hand on the door knob, and listened again. Silence… then the unmistakable sound of a choked-off sob.

“Percy?” Vex pushed open the door as she spoke, peering inside with a mix of concern and curiosity.

Papers and books and random bits of metal covered nearly every flat surface in the large bedroom, from the desk to the makeshift workbench to the shelves lining the walls. A four-poster bed sat under the windows, and Percy was sitting on the end of it, hands cradled around something small and metallic in his lap as he looked up at her. His eyes were red behind his glasses, and he just stared at her wordlessly as she stepped into his old room.

Vex crossed the room, the thick rug of the floor muffling her footsteps, and sat down beside him. “What’ve you got there?” she asked quietly.

Percy cleared his throat. “Old project,” he said, voice rough. “It was… It was going to be a mechanical soldier. See?” He unfolded his hands from around the object, revealing a nearly complete humanoid figure in armor. His fingers slipped into a gap in the back, working the gears, and the figure’s sword-arm moved up and down in a chopping motion.

“A toy?” Vex guessed.

He nodded. “Birthday present for Ludwig,” he said. “He was… he was probably too old for this sort of thing, but I’d gotten the idea, and I wanted to… I wanted…”

Percy’s hands folded around the soldier again, and he bowed his head, shoulders shaking. “Oh, darling,” Vex murmured, shifting close enough that she could wrap her arm around him. “Percy, I’m so sorry.” It was one thing to hear him explain that the Briarwoods had killed his family, one thing to see his rage and fury unleashed on those who’d betrayed him. But somehow this, seeing her friend weeping over a toy he’d been building for his little brother, was what made the depth of what he’d lost real.

He leaned into her side, breath hitching. Vex just rubbed her hand up and down his arm. She wondered if he’d ever truly let himself mourn them--she knew that after Mother died, she and Vax had buried their grief for a time, forcing themselves to focus on survival. Then six months later they were walking through a market and Vex caught the scent of the soap Mother used to use to wash her hair, and she’d collapsed sobbing in an alley while Vax held her. You could push grief off for a while, but all that did was give it time to sharpen its knives.

“Sorry,” he muttered after a while, though he made no effort to move away. “I… I just…”

“You miss them,” Vex said simply.

Percy nodded. “I miss them,” he agreed. “I miss…” He trailed off with something like a mirthless laugh and straightened up. “I miss the boy who lived here.” He waved a hand at the room. “I miss being him. I miss… I miss not being broken.”

Vex swallowed hard against her own tears. He didn’t need to deal with her crying on top of everything else. “We’re all pretty broken, dear,” she said. “I think that’s why we fit together so well. All our broken pieces snap together, make something stronger.”

He huffed out a breath and leaned his head against her shoulder again. “You sound like your brother. Have you been stealing his notes?”

Vex let out a mock-offended gasp and put a hand to her chest. “Stealing from my _brother_ , I can’t believe--we were having a nice moment, Percival, and you go and insult me, I’ll have you know everything he learned about dramatic speeches he learned from me--”

Percy laughed, a shaky, wet thing, but a laugh all the same. “All right, all right, I stand corrected,” he said. “My deepest apologies.”

She tossed her hair haughtily, though she couldn’t keep a small smile off her face. “Well, since you’re so sincere about it, then I suppose I shall accept.”

“Good.” He smiled again and looked down, then sighed, the lighter mood receding like the sun behind Whitestone’s ever-present clouds.

Vex let out a small sigh of her own, then turned and pressed a quick kiss to his hair. Percy made a small, startled sound in response, and she couldn’t help but grin. At least some things never changed. “Come on, darling,” she said and began to stand. “Let’s go see if there’s any lunch left for us, hm?”

“Right.” Percy followed suit, only to pause at the desk as he turned the little soldier over in his hands. After a few moments, he shook his head and set it down with care. Vex waited by the door as he walked over, then looped her arm through his as they stepped back into the hall.


	9. first warmth in winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 36.

“Cass?”

Cassandra looked up from her book to see Percy leaning in the doorway of her room. It had been two weeks, and his mere presence was still startling. It all felt sort of unreal, and she wondered how long it would take before she stopped expecting Sylas or Delilah to appear around the corners. Those two had been her world for so long, and now that it was over… well. She couldn’t expect to get over everything that had happened so fast, she supposed.

Percy raised his eyebrows at her, and Cassandra shook her head. “Sorry. Yes?”

“We’re getting ready to leave for the festival. You’re coming, right?” He stepped into the door fully, revealing the heavy scarf and gloves he was wearing over his somewhat tattered coat.

The festival. Right. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’ll just… you go on ahead. I’ll be there soon.”

He made a face and planted his hands on his hips. “If I don’t see you down there within the hour, I’m coming back up here and dragging you out by your ear, little sister.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You know, I seem to remember having to make that threat to  _ you _ more than once.”

Percy waved a dismissive hand. “Hiding from formal balls is perfectly acceptable. This is Winter’s Crest! There’s going to be pie!”

She laughed, the sound strange to her ears, and shook her head. “I’ll be there,” she said. “I promise.”

“Good.” He smiled at her, the same sideways crooked smile that all the de Rolo men seemed to share. “You deserve a day to have some fun.”

Cassandra wasn’t sure she agreed, but Percy looked more relaxed than she’d seen him in the last few weeks. She wasn’t about to take that from him with her brooding. “I’ll be there,” she repeated.

“Percy!” Keyleth skidded into view behind him, bundled up in furs and a heavy cloak. “Are you two coming?”

“I am,” he said. “Cass will be along later.”

Keyleth peered past him, then smiled at her. “Oh! Good. Well, um… we’re all at the doors. Grog’s impatient. Soooo...”

“Right.” Percy cleared his throat. “See you in a bit.”

“I’ll see you down there,” Cassandra agreed. Keyleth linked her arm through Percy’s and pulled him away, and Cassandra sat there, listening as their voices and footsteps faded away. She knew, that if she stayed here, Percy would come back. And she also knew that he couldn’t  _ actually  _ force her to do anything she didn’t want to.

She didn’t really want to go to the festival, honestly, but she also didn’t want to stay in the castle alone all day, either. And at least going out meant she wouldn’t disappoint Percy again.

So with a sigh, Cassandra stood and went to her wardrobe. Delilah had seen to her clothes, the last few years, and the second night after the Briarwoods were dead, Cassandra had sat on the floor of her room and fed the dresses to the fire, one by one. Of course, that left her with precious little to wear, and she’d been forced to raid Vesper’s closets for a while. But she and Percy both had free access to the treasury, and she’d paid a few of the seamstresses in town to make her new garments. Most were still works in progress, but she had enough to get by, for now.

She dressed in a deep green wool gown and draped Vesper’s fur-lined cloak over herself. For a moment, she swore she could smell her big sister’s perfume clinging to the fur, and Cassandra stopped in the doorway, her eyes closed tight against the tears. Then she took a deep breath, picked up her gloves and coin purse from the table, and headed out.

Her blades remained behind. She didn’t yet trust herself to carry them.

The festival was in full swing by the time she arrived, and Cassandra stayed to the fringes, watching the crowds and enjoying the anonymity afforded by the cloak’s hood. Five years ago, everyone in town had known the de Rolo children on sight, and while she and Percy looked quite a bit different now, she suspected she’d still be recognizable. And for the moment, she wanted to see how her people were truly faring.

The answer, after an hour or so of observation, seemed to be quite well. Of course, this was a festival, when everyone was in a state of merriment. Grief and struggle were set aside, to be picked up again tomorrow. So even though it wasn’t perhaps the most accurate view of Whitestone, it was still good to see. Cassandra stopped on the eastern edge of the square to watch a group of children chase each other around, trying to form snowballs out of the light dusting that had fallen overnight.

“Hot cider, miss?”

Cassandra turned to see a young girl holding out a wooden mug of steaming liquid. “Oh--yes, thank you,” she said, pulling out a few silver pieces before accepting the mug.

“Thank  _ you _ ,” the girl replied, then trotted away. Cassandra watched her return to a small stand, where a man and woman were filling more mugs from large, heated casks. The girl handed over the coins, and the woman leaned down to kiss her forehead before handing her another pair of mugs.

Cassandra quickly turned away and took a drink, the cider doing little to ease the lump in her throat. Five years, and the sight of happy families was still a painful one. Somehow she suspected it always would be. There would always be a part of her that would resent the happiness of others, when she’d had so much of it taken from her.

Perhaps that was why she didn’t want to spend the day with her brother and his friends.

She drifted among the crowd, listening in on conversations, buying little trinkets from vendors here and there. Throwing around the de Rolo fortune seemed like the least she could do to help to rebuild. And, well, it had been a long time since she’d been able to buy something simply because she liked the look of it.

Eventually, though, one of the people she’d been hoping to avoid caught up to her. “Ah, there you are, Cassandra,” Keeper Yennen said as he put a hand on her arm. “Have you seen Percival? It’s nearly time for the speech, and I can’t find him anywhere.”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning,” she replied, even as he steered her towards the stage set up under the Sun Tree. “Speech?”

“Yes--oh, don’t worry, you won’t have to talk.” He chuckled and patted her arm. “I’ll handle that. But there hasn’t really been a formal declaration to the town as a whole about you and your brother. The people need to see you both with their own eyes.”

“Mm.” Cassandra swallowed hard and let herself be pulled up the stairs. No one in town knew what she’d done to them, and somehow, that made this all the worse. They would laud her as a hero, a brave survivor who’d helped the rebellion from within the lair of the Briarwoods themselves… when in fact she was probably the reason they’d stayed in power for so long. 

Percy was the one who’d talked her out of revealing the truth to Whitestone; he’d said that after so much despair and loss and darkness, they needed to be symbols of hope. Of righteous leadership. “What would it accomplish, telling the people what you did?” he’d asked. “Or telling them that I unwittingly cut a deal with a smoke demon and fed it souls for years? It would only make things worse, and after everything… we have a duty to try to make things better.”

So she stood on the stage beside Yennen and Percy, smiled prettily and bowed when the crowds cheered for them. And it wasn’t until they were inside, with Percy and his friends, that she let her fear and uncertainty slip through again. None of them quite trusted her, she knew that, and oddly that made her feel better. They had enough of their wits about them to know that she  _ wasn’t _ reliable, that she needed watching. Perhaps this council of Percy’s would be enough to keep her from doing further harm.

Vox Machina wandered back outside, as did Yennen, leaving Cassandra alone in the empty house. She sighed and rubbed her hands together. It was cold, and she was drained, and the idea of going back to the castle and hiding under the covers was sounding more and more appealing. She’d done as she promised, she’d come to the festival, so Percy--

\--burst back in the door, something small clutched in one hand. “There you are,” he said. “Come on, they’re setting out dinner. Unless--you weren’t at the pie-eating contest, were you?”

She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Good. I mentioned dinner to Vax and Vex, and they both looked a little green.” Percy transferred whatever he was holding to his other hand, then held his arm out to her. She shook her head and rested her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they started towards the long tables laid out on the other side of the square.

Percy kept fidgeting with whatever he was holding, and after a moment, Cassandra nudged him in the side. “What is that?”

“Hm? Oh.” He frowned and held it up. “It is a raven skull.”

Cassandra blinked, utterly at a loss. “I… see?”

“Keyleth has both excellent and strange taste in gifts,” he said wryly. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll bet.” Vox Machina was a strange, reckless group, and more than a few of its members frightened her. But they loved her brother, had gone to incredible lengths for his sake, and so even if she didn’t understand them, she was glad he had them.

Percy slipped the small skull into his pocket as they reached the table, and he sat her at the end, giving her a bit of a buffer from the rest of his rambunctious crew. The ale flowed freely throughout the meal, and Cassandra found herself content to simply sit and listen to Vox Machina’s increasingly drunken tales of their past adventures. Most of them sounded pretty unbelievable, even with Percy nodding vigorously and insisting they really happened between bouts of laughter. She could ask in the morning, see if he still believed them when he wasn’t quite so drunk.

Eventually, the festival wound down, and as the most sober member of the group, Cassandra found herself leading the way back to the castle. Vex was trying to teach everyone some kind of drinking song, though her efforts were consistently thwarted by Vax sneaking up on the others and shoving snow down their backs. Cassandra decided that in this instance, ignorance was bliss, and steadfastly refused to turn around to see who was shrieking.

An arm slung around her shoulders, throwing off her balance, and she looked up to see Percy grinning drunkenly at her from behind askew glasses. “Didja have fun?” he slurred, hugging her shoulders for a moment.

Cassandra thought about it, then nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “I did.” Not as much fun as he and his friends, evidently, but she had to start small. And it had been a pretty good day.

“Good.” Percy beamed and patted her shoulder. Then he shrieked and jumped a foot in the air, flailing away from her while Vax cackled and fled. “You little  _ bastard, _ get back here!” Percy scrabbled at the ground for his own handful of snow and gave chase. “This is going down your breeches, I swear--Grog! Hold him down!”

Cassandra shook her head and huffed out a laugh, then continued on to the castle gates. Vox Machina would make it inside eventually, and if they found their way to warm beds really wasn’t her problem.  


	10. search and rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid-episode 39, though based on a description of events relayed in episode 41. (AKA, Gilmore's line about "my instinct was to grab the children" killed me dead. As did Liam's tears.)

Gilmore had suspected that the Emperor would be making this sort of announcement as soon as he heard about the address. He had ears around the city, and it was obvious that Uriel had long struggled under the weight of the crown. At least there was a plan in place for transition, passing power to the Council. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice a differ--

Warning bells began to sound from the city walls. A low, worried murmur rose from the crowd, and Gilmore frowned. The cluster that was Vox Machina, easily identifiable thanks to Grog towering head and shoulders over the others, seemed to be looking skyward. He followed their gaze, but saw nothing. That didn’t mean there  _ was _ nothing, though.

“Everyone, please return to your homes!” Asum called from the stage. “There’s--”

The scream reached them first, then the shadow. Gilmore considered himself a level-headed, adaptable man, and yet he could do nothing but stare, jaw agape, at the massive white dragon that wheeled overhead and slammed into the Ivory Tower. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be happening. Not here, not now, not like this.

The crowd recovered from its collective shock all at once, it seemed, and people began to flee, screaming, in every direction. Gilmore wheeled around, frantically scanning the crowd for his friends, but Vox Machina was nowhere in sight. What he could see was the stage, and the guards frantically trying to herd the royal family to safety.

He broke into a run, against the crowd, drawing on the arcane energy needed for a teleportation spell. “Uriel!” he shouted as he drew near. A few of the guards raised their spears; the Emperor shoved them down with a look that was almost comically irritated. Behind him, Empress Salda had her arms around her children, staring in horror as the Ivory Tower fell. Asum and the dragonborn, whatever her name was, had both drawn weapons, probably more out of instinct than any belief that it would help.

“I can get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Gilmore said. The spell was ready, save for the incantation. The work of a few seconds, but they might not have a few seconds.

Uriel glanced from Gilmore to Salda, then back. “Get them out of here,” he said. “My family. Asum, Tofor, go with them. Go, now.”

The dragonborn shook her head. “Sir--”

“That is an order!” Uriel bellowed, drawing on every scrap of Imperial authority that remained to him. “I am still your emperor. Now take them and  _ go _ !”

Gilmore nodded and wordlessly held his arm out to the Empress. She stepped towards him, bringing the children, her eyes never leaving Uriel’s face. Uriel held her gaze for a moment and nodded, then spun around and ran towards the edge of the stage, shouting orders to his guards. A second screech filled the air, and as Gilmore finished the teleportation spell, something massive and green appeared in the corner of his eye. Another dragon, unleashing a blast of poison--

Everything went dark for a moment, followed by the more familiar near-darkness of his safe room. Something about studying the arcane arts tended to breed paranoia, and most wizards and sorcerers kept countless escape routes and hideouts at their beck and call. It was why Gilmore had taken the time and expense to craft two teleportation circles, almost directly on top of each other: one in his bedroom, and one here, in the room he was only supposed to use when everything went to hell.

This situation most certainly qualified.

Gilmore released Salda and threw his hand towards the ceiling, casting a light spell. “Stay here,” he said. “I’m going back.”

Salda nodded mutely and sank down to sit on the floor, gathering her children to her. She was deathly pale and utterly silent, but she wasn’t weeping. Not yet. Asum and the dragonborn looked around in bewilderment, apparently at loss as to what to do now.

Not really his problem. They were on the Council, they had to be reasonably intelligent, they’d figure it out. Gilmore scrambled up the ladder and burst into his bedroom. He kicked the hatch closed, just in case, then raced into the shop. It was empty, save for Sherri, who was at the front window, peering outside curiously. She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Oh, Gilmore, you’re back,” she began. “What happened, are we under attack--”

“Dragons,” he gasped out. “Go to the safe room. The Empress and her children are there. Keep them safe. I’ll be back.”

She stared at him and didn’t move. “What?”

“Go!” He grabbed her forearms and half threw her towards the back of the shop. “Go, now, and open the hatch for no one!” 

Sherri nodded, her eyes wide, and ran. He didn’t wait to see if she did as he told her. Instead he ran to one of his display cases and slammed his elbow into the glass, shattering it, and grabbed the potion of flight contained within. He had to get back there.

Racing just above the rooftops gave him an unparalleled view of the destruction. Smoke choked the air as the dragons--sweet merciful gods, how many  _ were _ there--wreaked havoc on the city. Screams echoed up to him, and in the streets below, he could see people fleeing towards the gates, the docks, the skyships. One of the dragons, the white one, dove down in front of the south gate and let loose a blast of arctic fury. The screams from that direction cut off in an instant, and Gilmore flew on.

He dipped lower and lower, back down to the streets, as he neared the Cloudtop district. The gates had been torn from their hinges, either by one of the dragons or by the panicked mob, he couldn’t tell. It took mere moments to return to the plaza, and as his feet touched the ground, Gilmore thought he might be sick.

Bodies carpeted the cobblestones, blood pooling underneath them. Elsewhere in the city came the sounds of screaming and destruction, but here, it was utterly silent. Utterly still. Not one of the bodies showed signs of life.

Gilmore swallowed hard and stepped forward. “Vax!” he called, as loud as he dared. “Vax’ildan!”

Nothing. He kept walking, stepping around the bodies as best he could. “Vax! Uriel! Anyone?”

Again, nothing. He cast his eyes down and began looking at the bodies, searching for familiar forms, for a truly maddening half-elf clad all in black. No sign of Vax or the rest of his merry band, though many of the bodies had been melted by acid. They could be there, burned beyond recognition. No way for him to tell. 

Acrid fumes from the poison lingered in the air, and Gilmore pressed his sleeve to his mouth to muffle his coughs. He found Brom Goldhand sprawled near the stage, the breastplate of his armor cleaved in two, blood soaking the stone around him. Nearby were a few of his fellow merchants, a handful of mages from the Lyceum who’d visited his shop. People he knew, dead at his feet.

A few guards lay in a mangled pile beside the remains of the stage, and just beyond them… Gilmore stepped forward and sank to his knees. There wasn’t much left of Uriel Tal’dorei. He’d been crushed, by the looks of it, probably when one of the dragons had stepped into the plaza.

_ I could have saved him, _ Gilmore thought dazedly.  _ I could have saved him, and so many others, I should have just forced him to come with me, I should have--I-- _

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, my liege,” he said. “I did as you asked. I got them out. They’re safe.”

Behind him, from the direction of the palace, the massive red dragon let out a deafening roar. Gilmore looked back over his shoulder, then slowly stood. Vox Machina was not here, as far as he could tell. That left two options: either they had been sensible, and fled, or they had charged straight into the jaws of death itself.

A faint smirk quirked Gilmore’s lips, and he began to walk towards the palace. Vox Machina was a great many things, but they had never, in his experience, been sensible.


	11. cinderking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid episode 40.

“Port Ubar… Byroden…”

You knew. Somehow, you knew, as soon as Allura started explaining how this dragon began attacking new territory, away from its island kingdom. You knew that’s where it would lead.

You finally have a name for the thing that killed your mother.

Allura and Keyleth are hunched over one of Percy’s workbenches, murmuring incantations and waving their hands. The tears on Allura’s face have started to dry. Keyleth is still weeping. Scanlan and Pike sit against the wall by the door, staring silently into the room, their shoulders pressed together. Percy is in the corner opposite you, knees pulled up to his chest, head buried in his hands. He looks terribly small and alone and somehow too far away to reach.

Grog is leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, staring at the floor. You’re frightened of him now. You never were before. You’ve always trusted him to have control over his rage and violence. But if Percy hadn’t pulled you out of the way…

You’re still cradling the skull in one arm, keeping it carefully wrapped in the tapestry. Another evil artifact to lock away somewhere. Now that no one’s trying to kill each other over it, it seems like such a small problem in comparison to everything else. Emon is lost, but only one dragon remains. Where have the other three gone? Is Whitestone next? Will Percy’s people know mere weeks of freedom before being crushed again?

It’s too big to contemplate. The magnitude of the evil that has befallen the world seems too huge to fight.

Vax is holding your free hand tight enough to hurt, but you wouldn’t dream of pulling away. The pain is an anchor, a solid reminder that he’s still here. Everything else is gone, lost to the fire, but you still have him. You will always have him, and he will always have you. No matter what happens.

He’s been staring at Keyleth and Allura, but when you look at him, he turns and meets your gaze. His eyes are shadowed and bloodshot, a mirror image of your own. “I want to kill this dragon,” he says, voice low so only you can hear. “Or I want to die killing it.”

“We will,” you murmur and lean your head against his. You mean it, both parts. You will kill the beast that killed your mother together, or you will die trying. Together. 


	12. burdens of rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Episode 42. (Or, in which I get unreasonably fixated on background NPCs.)

For the second time in as many days, the foyer of Whitestone Castle was crowded with people. Cassandra stood at the base of the stairs, her gaze flitting around the group as Percy explained the latest batch of survivors.

“The ones by the doors are refugees from Emon, they can set up in town with the others--Pike can probably help, she’s been working with them. The man in the chair is Gilmore, he’s a very dear friend of ours, and it’d probably be best if he stayed here with his assistant.”

Cassandra nodded. Gilmore was chatting with Vex and smiling, but his robes bore telltale dark stains and he looked like he’d collapsed into the chair. “Is he hurt?”

“He was. He’s recovering.”

“I’ll see if we can set him up in a room on the ground floor, then,” she replied. “Save him the trouble of stairs.”

Percy flashed her a grateful smile. “That’d be wonderful,” he said.

Cassandra looked back to the group, her focus falling on an exhausted-looking woman in fine clothes with three children huddled around her. “Who’s that?”

He followed her gaze and sighed. “That is Empress Salda Tal’dorei and her children,” he murmured, and it was only years of courtly training from her parents that kept Cassandra’s jaw from dropping.

“The  _ Empress _ ?” she whispered back. “I’m hosting the Empress of Tal’dorei!?”

“I’m afraid she’s not Empress of much anymore,” Percy replied. “Emperor Uriel was in the middle of announcing his resignation from rulership when the attack came.”

Cassandra blinked at him, the unspoken meaning behind his words sinking in. “The Emperor is dead.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, gods have mercy.” Cassandra rubbed her forehead. “All right. She can stay in the castle. We have plenty of rooms.”

Percy’s smile was tense and sad, but he nodded. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat and nodded at the last group, waving a hand at one of the people. “This is Jarett Howarth,” Percy said as the man came over. “He was--” His voice faltered for a moment, then he shook his head. “He  _ is _ the captain of the guard at Greyskull Keep.”

Jarett gave her a polite bow. “Lady de Rolo,” he said, his voice bearing the accent of Marquet. “It is an honor.”

“The others are the rest of the guard and our kitchen staff,” Percy explained. “Is there room for them on staff here, for now?”

Cassandra nodded. “Of course.”

“It might be wise to assign Jarett and the others to Salda and the children,” Vax said from just behind them. Cassandra startled, and was a little gratified to see Percy jump as well. “As a royal guard, of sorts.”

Percy cleared his throat and shot Vax a stern look over the top of his glasses. “Good idea,” he said, then muttered something that might have been “you sneaky prick.”

Jarett nodded. “We will serve where we are needed. So long as we are paid.”

“That won’t be a problem.” One of the few things in undeniable good health in Whitestone was the treasury; the Briarwoods had hoarded funds, but had spent comparatively little. Paying several new staff wouldn’t be a problem.

“Right.” Percy raked a hand through his hair and looked to where the rest of his friends were gathered. “Mind if we set up in the guest rooms? I think we’ll only be here for the day, but we had to pack up a fair bit from the Keep, and it’d be good to get settled in, a bit.”

Cassandra frowned. Running off into danger seemed to be her brother’s lot in life now, and while she was glad someone seemed to have a plan for dealing with the dragons, she wished he could stay for a bit longer. “Yes, of course,” she said instead. “I’ll see to the others.”

He nodded, looking relieved, then headed back to his friends. Vax gave her a polite nod and trailed after him like a shadow. Trusting Percy to handle that, at least, Cassandra turned to the guards. “Jarett, was it? You should check in with Alinore,” she pointed to the guard standing near the hall leading further into the keep, “and coordinate guard rotations and the like with her.”

“Certainly. Thank you.” He bowed again and headed off, his guards following after him.

A couple of the castle guards were already escorting the refugees out the door and back to town, while Percy herded his friends up to the second floor. That took care of nearly everyone, save the special guests.

Two of the recently re-hired castle servants detached themselves from a wall and approached. Geoffrey and Ivan had served her parents, years ago, and managed to survive both the initial slaughter and the subsequent five years of subjugation. It had been a great help to have people around who knew the castle, knew what needed to be taken care of when. “I have a number of tasks for you,” she said with a rueful smile.

“We figured,” Ivan replied dryly.

“First, Ivan, take these two--” Percy hadn’t given her the names of the kitchen staff, of course-- “to the kitchens. Get them settled in, introduce them to Olivia.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He hurried away without another word, and Cassandra turned her attention to Geoffrey. “I need one of the rooms on this floor converted to a guest room,” she said. “For the gentleman there--I think his name is Gilmore.”

“Of course. I believe the reading room would be an excellent choice,” Geoffrey said. “Should I escort him there now?”

“Yes. Make sure he’s comfortable, then get help moving the bed out of…” She paused for a moment, thinking. Seven members of Vox Machina would fill all the guest rooms and then some, even assuming Percy took his old room. And she still had to find a place for the Empress and her children. “Out of Julius’s room,” she decided. “And tell the staff to keep an eye on him, bring him whatever he needs. He’s recovering from an injury.”

“Very well.” He began to step away, then looked past her to the remains of the Tal’dorei family. “Should I send someone else to see to them?”

“No.” Cassandra shook her head. “I’ll get them settled myself, thank you.”

He frowned slightly--Cassandra guessed that the lady of the castle personally attending to guests was probably some breach of decorum--but didn’t argue, instead hurrying off to Gilmore’s side. Then she took a deep breath, smoothed out her shirt, and approached Salda Tal’dorei.

Salda straightened up slightly as Cassandra approached. “Welcome to Whitestone, my lady,” Cassandra said and curtsied. “I am Cassandra de Rolo. We are honored to have you.”

Salda looked her over and gave her a small smile. “Thank you for taking us in,” she said. “I’m Salda, as I’m sure Lord Percival told you. And these are my children, Odessa, Illiya, and Gren.”

The girls curtsied as well, while Gren just gave her a big grin and waved. Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. “It’s wonderful to meet you, though I regret the dire circumstances. If you’ll follow me…?”

Salda nodded and held out her hands, her daughters each taking one while Odessa grabbed her brother’s hand as well. Cassandra led them upstairs, towards the living quarters. From the other side of the floor, she could hear loud voices as Vox Machina claimed their rooms. On this side, though, there were only closed doors and silence.

“I am sorry about your family,” Salda said as they walked. “And I’m sorry we allowed the usurpers to remain for so long.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. “They were--the Briarwoods were quite good at what they did. It is understandable that few would have suspected their treachery.” The ruling council had sent people, she knew that, spies and emissaries. She’d never seen exactly what Sylas had done to them, but she could guess. Word about what was really happening here had never been allowed to escape, not until Percy finally chose to come home.

She shook her head slightly and looked back. “And I’m--I’m sorry as well. About your husband.”

For a moment, the controlled mask Salda wore cracked, and Cassandra recognized all too well the grief of a woman who’d lost nearly everything. “Thank you,” she said, voice dull. The children remained silent, but shifted closer together, all of them looking to the floor.

Cassandra winced and continued walking. “We have several rooms,” she said as they neared the end of the hall. All the bedrooms had been cleaned and dusted, and majority of her family’s belongings had been packed away in storage. Cassandra hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to get rid of anything, but it felt entirely too morbid to leave clothes and books and jewelry where they sat, like a museum to the dead. 

“The lord and lady’s chambers are here.” She gestured at the double doors leading to what had once been her parents’ rooms. “And the children could stay in the bedrooms here?” She gestured towards what had been Oliver, Whitney, and Ludwig’s rooms.

Salda nodded. “If it’s possible,” she began slowly, “I think I’d… prefer to keep the children near me, for now.”

“Of course,” Cassandra said quickly. “We can have beds set up for them in here.”

Salda let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

Cassandra gave her a brief smile and pushed the doors open. The curtains had been drawn back from the wide bay window, letting the weak winter sunlight filter in. Plush couches and chairs were arranged around a slightly battered wooden table and soft, worn rug, all in front of an unlit fireplace. This had been one of her family’s private spaces, where her parents had been able to relax after a long day. One of her earliest memories was of playing with dolls on that very rug, while Mother napped on the couch.

“The bedroom is there,” Cassandra said, shaking herself out of her memories as she pointed at the doors. “Bathroom is there, and that door leads to the study.”

Salda nodded and released her children’s hands. The girls immediately raced to the window and scrambled onto the window seat, peering out at the vast forest beyond. Gren climbed up on one of the chairs and let out a huge, tired sigh.

“Is there anything you need?” Cassandra asked, turning to Salda.

She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. “More than I can begin to account for,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. Then she opened her eyes and met Cassandra’s gaze. “A meal would be appreciated,” she said. “Lord Percival and his friends were quite generous, but they were not entirely equipped to feed as many as they sheltered.”

“Of course. I’ll send someone up as soon as I can.” Cassandra glanced over the royal family again. Their clothes were dirty and torn in places, and she doubted any of them had had a bath since the attacks came. “I can have them bring clothing, as well. And toys for the children.”

Salda gave her a look of puzzled gratitude. “That would be wonderful, thank you,” she said. “You have clothing for children their ages?”

Cassandra shrugged. “My parents stopped getting rid of things we’d outgrown after their fifth child, I think,” she replied. “Just in case any more appeared unexpectedly.” 

Salda chuckled faintly. “I can understand that,” she said. “Thank you, again. Truly.”

“As I said, my lady. It is an honor.” Cassandra gave her a quick bow and stepped towards the door. “I’ll send someone with a meal soon, and we should be able to get beds and clothing and the like by this afternoon.” She paused for a moment, thinking, then added, “In the meantime, if you’d like, the library is just down the hall. Might help them pass the time.”

Salda nodded. Cassandra bowed again, then returned to the hall. Meal, beds, clothing, toys-- with a huffed breath, she spun on her heel and returned to her room to make a list. Easier than trying to remember everything.

“Only gets harder from here, Cass,” she muttered to herself, then grabbed a quill and began to write.


	13. homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post episode 42.

“There you go,” Vex said as she unclasped the final strap on Trinket’s armor. “Go on, you’re free!”

Trinket rumbled happily and immediately flopped on his back, rolling around in the dirt with his paws in the air. Vex giggled. “That’s my good boy.”

The castle gardens were pretty much the only place with the space for Vex to work on Trinket’s armor. It had taken a beating, recently, and she wanted to check it over, make sure everything was holding up.

And let it air out. Letting a bear stay in armor for hours left both halves of that equation smelling awfully ripe. Vex propped the armor up along one of the low stone retaining walls and moved off to a small bench, giving it plenty of room. She’d get back to the armor later. For now, she could see to her bow and watch Trinket.

It was all right, at first. She checked her bow for damage, careful eyes scanning every inch. She thought that as long as she didn’t look up, didn’t pay too close attention to where she was sitting, then maybe it wouldn’t hit her again. But the shadows of the trees were all wrong, and the bright colors of Keyleth’s garden didn’t catch her eye. The air was colder here and smelled of pine, not the sea. 

Didn’t smell of smoke, either, didn’t smell like an entire city burning.

Vex swallowed hard and put her bow down. She really hadn’t thought it would bother her; they’d spent so little time in Greyskull, truthfully. Only a handful of days and nights in between adventures. And yet… it had been a place to return to. A place where they’d be safe and taken care of. She’d had her own room there, and it wasn’t like the room she’d had in Syngorn, where every inch of it had been someone else’s design. It was  _ hers _ , and she could do whatever she wanted with it.

Only a place, only stone. And yet, when Keyleth had held up her hands to cast the spell, Vex had felt like her heart was breaking. The last time she’d left a place that felt like home, it was to go to Syngorn, and she’d never seen her home or her mother again.

Vax said they’d done it before, they’d survive. Percy promised they’d return and rebuild. None of it made her feel better.

She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She hadn’t slept well since the attack, her sleep haunted by nightmares. The easier ones to bear simply replayed what she’d seen, the bodies in the plaza and courtyard, the blood on the grass and stone. But for the others, her mind got creative, and presented her with visions of Thordak bearing down on Byroden. Of the little house she’d grown up in consumed by flames, of her mother screaming in terror as the dragon bore down.

Her mother always cried out for her just before Vex woke up.

A sob escaped her, and Vex leaned forward, tears escaping from under her hands. The Heroes of Emon, that’s who they were supposed to be. Saviors and defenders and guardians, and they’d saved so, so few. They’d left the city behind, and she  _ understood _ , she did, she knew why they had to do it. But sitting here, in the peace and quiet of Whitestone, it felt like she’d never see it again. Like she’d go back and find nothing but rubble and ash and bodies, nothing left to save. Nothing to go home to.

Trinket nuzzled into her side with a huffing noise. She sat up, and he put his head on her shoulder, rubbing his fur against her face. Vex wrapped her arms around the bear’s neck and buried her face in his scruff as she cried. She hadn’t lost everything, she still had Vax and Trinket and Percy and all the others, still had her bow and her gold, but she’d lost a lot. She’d lost her home, again, and in the depths of her heart she knew she’d never get it back.


	14. the human soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set mid-episode 56. Percy's feelings on cities are utterly fascinating to me.

Percy wasn’t upset at Keyleth, not really. Panic attacks were no pleasant thing, and he knew from experience that the strangest things could set them off. So he wasn’t upset with her, and he was relieved that Kerr was both able and willing to help where he seemed useless. But Percy couldn’t deny the disappointment he felt when his plans to go outside and join Vex alone were dashed.

“Is she all right?” Vex asked, looking over her shoulder, as Kerr ushered an overly pale Keyleth outside.

“Just a bit overwhelmed by all the attention,” Percy said. “You know how she is with people.” Not a lie, not precisely, but a half-truth that protected Keyleth’s privacy. Least he could do.

Vex nodded, either accepting it at face value or deciding not to push it any further. “Well, no sign of any dragons rushing in to kill us all,” she declared.

“So you’ll have a drink, then?” Percy asked, gesturing broadly towards the bar at the back of the common room.

“I will have  _ many  _ drinks.” Vex grinned and let him escort her through the crowd. It took twice as long as it should have, due to the people who kept stopping to shake their hands and offer thanks. Percy accepted it all with nods and his nobleman’s smile, a wide but close-lipped one. It was a little surprising, how fast all the trappings of his station had come rushing back. He’d never entirely dropped his airs of nobility, something the rest of his little band had given him quite a bit of grief about over the years, but those had just been habits. Functions of how he’d been raised. The performance of nobility, that he hadn’t bothered with in years, and yet as soon as his lineage was restored it all came rushing back.

His smile turned into one far more natural as Vex flung herself into a gap at the bar and threw her hand in the air. “Barkeep! Two ales, if you’d be so kind.”

“And one for me as well,” Percy added, leaning in over her shoulder.

“Oh, hush.” She planted her hand on his face and shoved him back. The bartender blinked at her, and she held up two fingers. “Two. I’ll come back for more later.”

“Of course.”

Vex’s fingers had left streaks on his glasses, and with a small huff Percy pulled them off and wiped them clean on his vest. Their drinks were delivered promptly, and this time Vex led the way to a tiny corner table that had been left surprisingly empty. She half-fell into her chair and slid one tankard across to him, then heaved a sigh. “You know I still almost can’t believe we did it.”

“Killed the dragon?”

“Yeah.” She took a long drink and shook her head. “I mean, I figured we’d have to start killing them eventually. But I didn’t think it’d happen so  _ fast _ . I thought we’d spend months preparing, finding allies, getting the Vestiges, all of that, before we even dreamed of striking one down.”

Percy shrugged. “Fate forces our hands sometimes, it seems.”

“Mm.” Vex took another drink, her attention drifting to the crowd around them. Percy followed her gaze. The people of Westruun were weary and battered, that was all too easy to see, but they were still here. They remained and endured and survived, and because of that, Westruun would not fall.

“I wonder if we should go with them, to Kymal,” Vex commented. “Make sure everyone gets there safely.”

Percy blinked. “What?”

“Kerr said most of the people wanted to leave.” She shrugged. “And as I recall, most of the refugees headed there. And if these people go to join them… well, a line of travelers like that would be an awfully tempting target for a dragon.”

“They can’t just… abandon the city, though,” Percy said, frowning. “We need to bring people back, not send everyone away.”

Vex shrugged again. “But if the dragons come back--”

“They could come to anywhere in Tal’Dorei at any time,” Percy replied. “Here, Kymal, even Whitestone, gods forbid. Westruun isn’t any more dangerous than any other city, and truth be told, it might even be safer. There’s so little here left to claim.”

“I suppose. It’s up to them though, really, whether they want to stay or not.”

Percy frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side as he studied her. “What would you do?” he asked. “If you’d grown up here, lived here your whole life. Would you leave?”

“I guess it would depend on what was still here,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “Who was still here. But… I don’t know. I’d probably go. Start over somewhere else.”

His frown deepened, and he sighed as he lifted his mug for a drink. He wasn’t surprised by her answer, not really, but it was still a disappointment. No one else in their little band had the kind of roots he did. Wanderers, the lot of them, and even in Emon they hadn’t ever been truly bound to the place. Of course, it was impossible to create those ties in a lifetime, much less in a year. His bonds to his city--and the bonds of Westruun’s people to theirs--required generations to form. And as deeply as he cared for Vex, she and her brother had cut themselves off from their roots to fly free. For good reason, to be sure, but it meant that on this, they might forever stand apart.

“You’d stay, though.” Vex kicked his foot under the table, shaking him from his thoughts. “Stay and build.”

“It’s what I do.”

She chuckled and gave him a warm, fond smile. He smiled back, habitually pushing down the desire to lean across the table and kiss her, and took another drink. Before either of them could speak again, though, Vex’s eyes snapped to a point over his shoulder. “Oh, there’s Pike, I should… We need to speak to Amelia. Tell her what happened to her father.”

“I do not envy you that errand,” he said, but made no move to stand. Pike and Vex were far better suited to it than he was. His presence would likely make an already painful situation worse.

Vex drained her mug and set it down, then pushed back from the table. “We promised,” she said simply. “See you later.”

“See you, darling.”

Percy watched her disappear into the crowd, then let his attention drift back to the people. Westruun could not be abandoned. They had not taken such risks and made such sacrifices to simply let the city die anyway. It had survived for too long for such a--such a blasphemy to be permitted. It could not happen.  _ He _ would not let it happen.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d set out to save a city again. For tonight, he and it could celebrate one hard-fought victory.    
  
  
  



End file.
